


Where to Go From Here

by why_me_why_not



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:48:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29539842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/why_me_why_not/pseuds/why_me_why_not
Summary: Sam doesn't doubt he did the right thing, made the only choice he could, but that doesn't keep the nightmares away.Or, Sam and Dean deal with the aftereffects of The Demon Incident. (post season 1)
Kudos: 4





	Where to Go From Here

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks goes to de, wendy, and dove. Special thanks to acostilow & mimiheart for trying to help me when I needed it (and for giving me more plot bunnies in the process.) And extra special thanks goes to wook for listening to me _whinge_ on and on about this even though she's not in the SPN fandom. Originally posted for the two_of_us_fic challenge on lj. 
> 
> My prompt was:   
> _All these years I've been wandering around, wondering how come nobody told me  
>  All that I was looking for was somebody who looked like you._

Sam doesn't doubt he did the right thing, made the only choice he could, but that doesn't keep the nightmares away. He can still hear the sickening crunch of metal, feel the whole car shudder and buckle beneath him, smell the blood in the air as it mixed with whatever fluids the Impala was leaking. It was so real, and it plays out again in his mind every time he closes his eyes.

When he jerks awake, it's to the almost-dark (okay, he admits to being scared, too afraid to turn out all the lights) and almost-silent (he has to listen hard over his own heartbeat, sometimes holding his breath, to hear the faint whispers that tell him his brother is alive in the next bed) stillness of the room.

They haven't stayed in one place this long since God-only-knows-when (the years at Stanford don't count, because it was just Sam at first, and later Sam-and-Jessica, but never Dean) and Sam almost wishes Dean would tell him it's time to move on to the next job.

Dean doesn't say much to Sam these days, though, and when he does it's all quiet and stilted and full of "Sam" if he calls him by name at all. Sam didn't think he'd ever miss being called "Sammy", but he does.

Dean says he understands, but Sam can see it in his eyes that he's not one hundred percent certain. In the selfish part of his mind, Sam thinks that Dean owes it to him to trust him on this. After all, Sam didn't hesitate when Dean said Dad was possessed. And Dean was the one who pulled the gun in the first place, called the demon out.

But Sam was the one who pulled the trigger.

They're still in the same town they landed in a few weeks after The Demon Incident (which is how Sam always thinks of it, capitalized and all-inclusive but not addressing what really happened). When the cash started to run low, Sam thought they'd be moving on, Dean doing what he did best to earn money -- scams and hustling. Instead, Dean got a job -- an honest-to-God, full-time, legitimate job working on cars at a local garage. Okay, so maybe it isn't completely legitimate because Dean gets paid under the table (Dean Winchester is dead, after all), but it's a job. On top of that, they found an apartment and signed a lease. Not one of those one- or two-month contract deals, but a long-term lease. Sam can't remember the Winchesters ever staying in one place this long. 

Dean pays the rent and expects Sam to take care of the other things, so Sam finds a job working in a used bookstore. They fall into a routine; they work, Sam cooks, they eat in silence, Dean cleans up. It would feel almost like a family of sorts if there wasn't the uncomfortable tension between the two of them. And the fact that most nights Dean heads off to one of the local bars after dinner. Sam hates that things have gotten so bad between them that Dean would rather spend time with strangers in a loud, dark room instead of with his own brother, or out hunting.

He keeps waiting for the wanderlust to kick in, for Dean to go stir-crazy and demand they find something, _anything_ to kill. Or burn. Maybe a job will bring back the camraderie between the two of them. Dean, however, pretends to be content in the routine and monotony of their current life. Sam knows his brother, knows it's an act, but he's too tired of arguing to call him on it. 

Sam once told Dean that there was no way to go back to the way things used to be. At the time he believed that. Now he prays it's not true. He tries more than once to talk to Dean -- to explain, to apologize, to beg forgiveness, whatever it takes to make things right between them -- but Dean is a master at evasion and avoidance and changing the subject.

So they stumble along, talking to each other every day and never saying anything important.

One morning at breakfast, Sam nearly chokes on his Cheerios when Dean says "I think it's time to sell the truck."

Sam coughs and sputters. He knows it's not a coincidence that Dean waited until he had taken a bite before he dropped that particular bomb into the center of their lives. "Dad's truck? What... why?"

"You're gonna need something smaller to take with you back to school."

"But I'm not--" Sam starts to say he's not going back to school, but the words are held back by the implication of what Dean has just said. Dean wants him to leave. 

It takes weeks for the truck to sell. Dean is so insistent that they sell the truck, but he seems to be dragging his feet, interrogating each prospective new owner to make sure the truck gets the best home possible.

Once the truck in the space beside the Impala is replaced with cash in their pockets, Dean drags Sam all over three counties in search of the perfect car. Sam doesn't know why he even goes along, because Dean isn't letting him have any say, even though it's supposed to be _his_ car. They finally settle on a champagne colored Cavalier -- safe, reliable, sensible. _Normal_. It whispers of the sedate life Sam once thought he wanted, the same way the Impala screams danger and hunting and freedom and Dean. 

Sam wants to hate it, but he knows the car isn't the real problem. Sam finally succumbs to the idea of leaving, because if Dean wants him gone, then there's no reason to stay. That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it. And it sure as hell doesn't mean that he can leave with the way things currently stand between them. But the little things that Dean slips into conversation, things about Sam leaving and life after Sam, are really getting to him, and in the end nothing is fixed when Sam loads up the Cavalier with his meager belongings and points the car towards California. 

A quick goodbye, an even quicker hug, and Sam can't believe he's actually doing this. Leaving, running away. 

When Sam left for college the first time, he had been afraid to look behind him, afraid of the disappointment or accusations he'd see in his brother's eyes, things that would make him want to stay or make concessions. Now, Sam refuses to look in the rearview because he's afraid Dean won't be there at all.

Back in Palo Alto, it's easy enough for Sam to find a new apartment and a new job. He's still got nearly two months before the start of the fall semester (he thinks somehow time is messing with his head, because the widening expanse between him and The Demon Incident seems to have sprung up overnight) so he takes the long way to work (avoiding the park where he and Jessica used to stretch out on a blanket with a picnic lunch and a stack of books) and spends the rest of his time holed up in his empty apartment.

He knows that Dean hit the road right after Sam did. He got a check in the mail refunding the bills he had paid in advance. He doesn't pick up when Dean calls, just waits for the message and replays it a few times. Dean never answers when he calls back either. 

As the semester approaches, Sam gets more anxious about his decision to come back here. So much has happened since that night Dean broke into his apartment. Losing Jess. Returning to the life he thought he had left behind. Finding out things about himself and his past that he's not sure he wanted to know. Realizing that the things in life he considered priorities are worlds away from what is really important.

Becoming a murderer.

Okay, technically he had killed a lot of supernatural beings, but crossing that final line and killing a person -- not just anyone, but his own father, even if he had been sharing his body with a demon at the time -- had changed something inside Sam.

He isn't sure of who he is, what he wants, where his life is supposed to go from here. But he knows he isn't the same Sam who rode out of Palo Alto with his older brother what seems like ages ago. 

He doesn't know what his options are, hasn't thought it all out, so he makes the choice of not choosing anything. He falls into the track everyone expects him to choose, the life Dean wanted him to return to, the path his advisor lays out for him. Going along is easier than getting out.

When fall semester starts, Sam rearranges his work schedule but doesn't cut back to part time. He had left in the middle of a semester when Jess died, so he has the same courseload now as he had then. Even though he has already covered most of the material once, juggling school and work isn't easy. It works to Sam's advantage though. He always has a ready excuse to turn down his friends when they feel obligated to invite him for a night out. And he's usually too exhausted to be bothered by nightmares.

Most of Sam's classmates are faces he doesn't recognize. He's been gone for nearly two years, after all. The rumor mill, however, apparently started churning as soon as Sam hit campus, because even people he doesn't know are giving him those strange looks, the ones that make him wish he were invisible.

It's not like it's anything new. The looks of wariness and suspicion -- he's earned them from authority figures in forty-eight states (and once in Ontario after he and Dean had gotten lost). This time around, the judging, condemning looks don't bother him as bad because he is guilty, just not in the way their silent accusations imply. The way some people look at him like he's a freak -- yeah, Dean had called that one right, Sam _is_ a freak. He's not exactly embracing the idea, but he accepts that it's one of the ties that binds the Winchester family.

The worst, though, are the looks of pity. Sam's been on the recieving end of those for longer than he can remember. _Poor, motherless Sammy, being dragged from pillar to post by his father._ No matter what story their father concocted for each new town they visited, Sam and Dean never had a mother. Their clothes were clean but faded, and they didn't always fit right. In elementary school, other parents would come to have lunch with their kids; Sam would always eat alone. A few of the other children were ridiculed for bringing store-bought snacks to class parties; Sam always arrived empty handed if Dean didn't let him stay home and play sick that day. He would stick to the back of the room, trying to avoid the too-knowing eyes of the well-intentioned room mother. When Sam got older and started playing sports, his father never made a game (though Dean never missed one, which in some ways made things feel worse). 

Each time they moved, there was a new school, a new background woven of falsehoods, new people... but there was always a reason to feel sorry for the Winchester boys. 

Dean was never to good at dealing with any authority other than Dad. He would glare and act belligerent until people looked the other way.

Sam eventually learned to use it to his advantage when he could, but he hated it. He didn't want pity or concern from these people. He didn't want them to look at him with regret and sympathy. He just wanted to be Sam.

He had that at Stanford, even if it was only due to lies by omission that no one knew about his past. Jess was the first and only one he told about his mother, and the look she gave him was one he dreaded, the same one he had seen reflected on the faces of so many others. He loved her, though, so he let it go.

Now, coming back to school, the pitying glances are back in full force. _Poor Sam Winchester. Left town for the weekend and came home to find his girlfriend trapped and killed in an unconventional fire. Took nearly two years for him to come back here, and it has to be hard on him._

And it is hard on Sam, walking alone on the familiar sidewalks he had once strolled with Jess. Jess's favorite resturaunt. Passing the house she insisted she wanted to live in one day (she told him that and he had laughed, but the next day he had started shopping for a ring because he did want to buy Jess a house, that house, and fill it with laughter and love and children and memories). 

Still, that's his business. There are some things he needs to keep to himself. He doesn't like the idea of other people judging him or pitying him. He ignores them the best he can and throws all of his energy into work and classes and forgetting.

November first rolls around, and Dean hasn't called in almost two weeks. Sam has kept his worrying to himself, since it doesn't exactly feel like anything's wrong and they didn't have a formal arrangement anyway, but finally he calls his brother. For the first time since he arrived back in Palo Alto, he's hoping to hear something other than a recorded message. He's tempted to hang up after Dean answers; the way he says "Hello" is enough to reassure Sam that he's alive and okay. There's dead air hanging on the line between them for an increasing amount of time, and Sam's thumb is hovering over the 'end call' button when Dean speaks again.

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam bites his lip slightly, fighting a grin he knows Dean can't see. He's not sure why, but it feels like a small victory that Dean broke the silence first. "Dean, hey... yeah, I'm okay. I just... what about you?"

"I'm fine, man. Just finished a gig up near Detroit, getting a poltergeist out of a house. And the chick that lived there -- let's just say she was _really_ appreciative."

Sam laughs and relaxes in his chair. He misses Dean, smarmy comments and all, and it's good to actually talk to him instead of just hear him on the voice mail.

"How's school?"

"It's good; school's good."

Idle small talk, nothing significant or important, but Sam's glad to hear Dean talking to him again like they're brothers instead of strangers.

After several minutes, they fall into silence again, the only indication the connection is still there is the occasional slosh of liquid in a bottle. At least they aren't drinking alone.

Sam's not sure who hangs up first, but neither of them say goodbye.

Sam sleeps through November second.

As the end of the semester approaches, Sam's not sure what's worse -- all the papers to finish and exams to study for, or the memory of how different it is to study by himself than with Jess. He hasn't talked to Dean again since that one phone call, though Dean has reverted to checking in once a week on Sam's voice mail, so Sam's a little surprised when he finds he's written Dean's name along the margin of the notes he's studying. 

Something feels... well, not _wrong_ , exactly, but _off_. He tries Dean's cell, gets voicemail. Leaves a message that he's okay because he knows Dean would worry if he didn't. After all, Sam's only called him once. 

Two nights later, Sam falls asleep stretched out on the couch with a text book in his lap. He wakes up on the floor, the dream reverberating in his mind -- Dean, bruised and bloody and fighting, rapidly losing consciousness. He knows it's a vision and not a nightmare. It felt too real to be an ordinary dream. What he doesn't know is the _when_ of the vision and if he can stop it.

He knows where Dean is, recognizes the path markers of the hiking trails from Foothills Park. He doesn't know why he's there, or how he could have come so close to him and not call. Well, maybe he does know why Dean didn't call, but he doesn't want to admit to himself that their separation has reached the point where his brother doesn't even want to see him.

He's not sure what Dean was hunting, what kind of creature has apparently gotten the better of him in a fight, but Sam still has a pretty varied arsenol in the false bottom of the Cavalier, so he's not worried about taking the thing out. 

What he doesn't know is the _when_ of the vision and if he can stop it.

He quickly shakes off that thought. He _will_ stop it. He grabs his keys as he slides his feet into his shoes and rushes out the door. He's feeling drained already. The lack of sleep and the lingering headache and nausea from the vision are getting to him, and his little practical car doens't have near the power or speed that the Impala does. In a way, it's a good thing it's late and the roads aren't crowded, because Sam's thoughts are a bit preoccupied.

Sam had hiked the trails of the Foothills with his friends when he was at Stanford the first time. He and Jessica had even camped there a time or three with some other couples. He had never sensed anything unusual there, and just because he had given up hunting didn't mean certain aspects of that life weren't firmly entrenched in his daily life. There was nothing supernatural around the Foothills then. Which meant this was a recent development, something Sam had somehow missed. If he had been alert, had been paying attention to what was going on right here in his little corner, he could have picked up on whatever was here, taken care of it himself on territory that he was familiar with, and Dean wouldn't be hurt right now.

Sam doesn't see the Impala along the way, but he _knows_ Dean is here. Somewhere. Sam parks the Cavalier by the park gates, grabs what he thinks he'll need from the trunk, and scales the fence. The Foothills Park is a big place, fifteen miles of trails alone, and a lot more space besides.

Sam gets more and more anxious as each section of the park that he searches turns up empty. He's starting to doubt himself, to think maybe it wasn't a vision and he's just going crazy, when his foot catches on something and he nearly trips. A quick beam from a downward pass of his flashlight reveals a figure in a dark cloak, lying facedown by his feet. 

Not for the first time, he wishes the moon would be a bit more cooperative and come out from its hiding place amongst the clouds, but he has the senses of a hunter and even in the dull illumination can recognize the signs of struggle and take in the spatterings of blood. 

"Dean!" Sam's whisper is filled with urgency and panic. "Dean!"

Now that he's in the right place, it only takes a few moments to find his brother, but when he does it's like everything just freezes. From where he's standing, he can't tell if Dean's breathing or not, but as he slides to his knees beside him, his hand falls automatically on his chest, reassuring himself with the familiar rise and fall there.

He's barely aware that he's repeating Dean's name like a mantra, like it'll somehow anchor Dean, keep him tied to him, as he searches for the source of the blood. Scrapes and scratches and cuts, but nothing he finds explains why Dean's unconscious. When Sam's hand comes away warm and sticky from the back of Dean's head, he thinks the irony is almost laughable -- Dean Winchester, Supernatural Slayer Extraordinaire, brought down by hitting his head on a rock. If Sam learns he tripped over his bootlaces or his own feet or something equally mundane, he'll never let him live it down. 

Right now, though, they need to get out of here, and although he will if he has to, Sam's really not trying to carry Dean all the way back to the car. 

"Dean," he raises his voice a bit, shaking him slightly. "Hey, man."

He's rewarded by Dean's eyes fluttering open, confused and pain-ridden but still a relief to see. 

"Sam?" 

"Yeah, it's me. Can you walk? Or at least, help me out a little? It's a long walk back to the car."

"The Broxa..."

"Whatever it is, it's dead. You can tell me all about it later." 

Between the two of them (most of the effort on Sam's part) they manage to get Dean on his feet, leaning heavily on Sam for support, and the trip to the car is a slow, painstaking process. Dean fades in and out of consciousness, so part of the time Sam feels like he's dragging him. Several times Dean trips over words like he does his own feet and Sam not sorry he can't make out what he's saying because it doesn't sound good. The gate is a problem; there's no way Dean can go over it. Sam picks the lock, irrationally bothered by the fact they're leaving the gate open for anyone to get in, and then they're _finally_ at the car and Dean's out of it again as soon as he hits the seat. Sam misses the Impala for more than one reason now. The front seat would have been more comfortable, had more room for Dean to stretch out, and the dark upholstery wouldn't show the blood stains so bad. 

Sam makes it to the local hospital in record time; he knows how much Dean hates hospitals, but he's not taking any chances. When they get there, Dean's alert enough to protest but Sam actually wins the argument, with the help of a cute blonde triage nurse who promises to personally make sure Dean's well taken care of. Sam paces restlessly in the waiting room until they finally let him into the room where Dean's been admitted. He stops at the door, almost afraid to open it as he's assaulted by memories of the last time Dean was in the hospital, but finally goes in. 

One of the things he hates the most about hospitals is the way all the machines and equipment seem to be set up to make even the most invincible patient seem small and frail. It's not fair, and it's an illusion. Some twisted way of making the doctors feel necessary by making the patients and the families thing the situation is worse than it really is, but Sam knows things are never as hopeless as they appear on the surface.

Dean's asleep -- just resting, now, the nurse assures him, and advises him to do the same. But he can't. He can count on one hand the number of times he's had to sit at Dean's bedside, and the entire situation is far from restful. He pulls a chair up beside the bed and waits. The night's almost over, but things are far from finished.

Sometime in the morning, not too early because the breakfast trays have already been distributed and cleared, Sam shifts restlessly in the uncomfortable chair before rising to stretch. He's missing a final this morning, but he can't bring himself to care. He must doze off at some point, because the next time he opens his eyes, Dean's awake and talking to one of the nurses -- a redhead this time. Dean's the only person Sam knows who could charm a girl from his deathbed. 

Sam doesn't say anything, just waits until she leaves and Dean turns to look at him. For a moment, they're both looking at each other, not saying anything. 

It's Dean who speaks first. "How'd you find me?"

Sam smiles. "I'm a freak, remember? Psychic visions?" It doesn't earn him the grin he's hoping for, so he decides to forgo lightening the mood and get right to the point of what's been bothering him. "Why didn't you call me? I mean, I know didn't want me to hunt with you anymore, but... you could've called. This thing was in my backyard. I could have taken care of it."

"Yeah, and then you would be lying dead out there, because _I_ don't have the benefit of psychic visions." Dean's voice is low and rough, and Sam almost feels bad for imposing a serious conversation on him. Almost. 

"So you could have asked me to come with you."

"This isn't your life anymore, Sam. It never should have been."

"Look, Dean, I know you don't want me around. I can't change what happened. And I can't say that I'm sorry for killing that demon, for killing Dad, because I'm not. But I am sorry for what it's done to us. You're my brother, man! You're all I have!"

"Sam..."

Sam knows that the medications are making Dean's tongue loose, and he's probably taking an unfair advantage here, but he's tired of talking around this. It's time to settle it. He waits, hearing the hesitation in Dean's voice, knowing there's more he wants to say.

"Sammy, I'm sorry. I... I never wanted this for you. I'm sorry I couldn't shoot Dad, that I made you do it. I should have protected you from that, and I didn't. The only way I can think of to make it up to you is to let you have your life, because when you're around, every time I look at you, I think of how I've fucked up."

Before Sam can think of anything to say, the doctor walks into the room, inquiring about how Dean is feeling. He goes on to talk about something else, but Sam tunes him out. What Dean said... it's completely different from the way Sam thought. Only Dean could find some reason to blame himself for Sam shooting Dad. 

Sam catches Dean glancing from the doctor to him and back, and suddenly he realizes that he's wrong. Not about Dean and his guilt -- that is something real and something that will have to be sorted out -- but about himself. He had spent so much time running away from his life and his past, trying to find his "normal", trying to find someone to accept him as _Sam_... and all along, the only person he had needed was right in front of him. 

Dean was the one person who looked at him and saw _Sammy_. The one person who supported him even when he was making the wrong decision. Sam can't help but smile, even though Dean's looking at him like he's gone crazy. He knows where he belongs, where is life is, and now he only has to convince his brother that whatever is out there, whatever the future holds, it's up to the two of them to face it _together_.


End file.
